“Did you not say you wished for powers?” he asked with a smug smile. “This is a potion to help awaken them. And close your mouth, you’ll catch flies,” he laughed.

Snapping her mouth shut, she reached for the bottle, then let her hand droop. “Why have I not heard of such a thing? Surely my mother would have acquired it if such were possible.”

“What can I say,” he said, opening arms wide with a toothy smile, “I work miracles. No seriously, I know people, serious herbalists, and they have concocted this at my request. A potion for powers.”

Mouth dry, she gazed at the bottle with the longing of a woman dying of thirst. “W-what does it do?”

“Well,” he rubbed his chin, “first it helps you relax. You can’t manifest if you’re all tensed up. Then it opens your eyes so you see the world as it really is. After that, unlocking your powers is just a matter of trial and error I should think. And… dancing.”

She scrunched her face in disbelief. “What does dancing have to do with powers?”

He stood, took a step, and spun. “Why, my fair lady, it has everything to do with it! Dancing sends lifeforce flowing through your channels. Surely you’ve felt that freedom at least once, have you not?”

She nodded. It was true, though she’d only felt it when dancing alone. She didn’t like people watching her dance. It felt too… intimate? Like showing part of her soul.

“But if you don’t want it, that is fine too…” and he moved to put the bottle away in a satchel. She lay a hand on his.

“No, please,” she said softly, “I’d like to try it.”

With a wolfish grin, he pulled the cork out with his teeth and handed it over.

“How much should I take?”

He shrugged. “Start with a swig, take more as needed. But wait till you feel the effects peak before you take more. It’s potent stuff, and I wouldn’t want you to feel overwhelmed.”

She stared at it for a long moment, nodded to herself, and took a mouthful. She cocked her head as she tasted, then swallowed. “It’s mead! With something else.”

“Honey makes the medicine sweeter, or so I am told,” he winked, and then took a swig himself.

She was distracted from his answer by a heat suffusing her body. A terribly pleasurable tingle spread to her toes, making her eyelids droop and her muscles relax. The breeze caressed her body like a lover would, sending delightful shivers throughout. She sighed happily up at the canopy of oak leaves, a caress grazing her bare arms before realizing it was her own hands doing so. Yummy. That was the only word that fit what she felt all over. Her tongue felt thick and swollen, mouth pasty, and she reached for the bottle to have another drink.

“Nuh-uh,” he said, “one sip to start with, more later. Have some water instead.” She felt a cold bottle pressed into her hand and only now noticed her eyes were closed. She took a sip, savoring the sensation of it flowing down her throat. Then she opened her eyes and gasped.

Gösta was glowing. Not just white, but in many colors. So were the trees, the grass. So were her hands as she examined them in fascination. She waved them in front of her face, giggling as they left tracers of light behind. She played that way for a while. It could have been a minute or an hour, it was impossible to tell.

“Have I earned your favor,” he asked, “perhaps a little kiss on the cheek?”

With a silly grin on her face, she answered, “you most certainly have,” and proceeded to lean over to him. She would have fallen on her face if he hadn’t caught her.

“It does take a bit of getting used to, but I’ve had other potions before. You’ll adjust as well.” She nodded at his words but didn’t care, a small dimple on his cheek becoming the whole of her awareness until she managed to plant a kiss. And as she did, her heart overflowed with love and joy. My boyfriend, she thought. This is my boyfriend and I‘m kissing him. Hooray. So much hooray. She wanted more, but he stopped her.

“Perish the thought of me being a gentleman, but if I let you go further you’ll regret it in the morning. Let us dance instead.”

Dancing. Dancing sounded good to her too. She rose with his help but it felt more like flying, hovering. Despite that, he kept her from tipping over as he led her to the celebration. All those people, they were glowing too. They were beautiful. The music, she took notice of it now, was also beautiful. It made her body move and flow, like a stream carrying a boat. Unbound of all concerns, she let herself dance freely.

One of her tormentors approached and started talking. She didn’t really care what he was saying, so she slapped him. Even that felt delightful against her skin, and she shushed him with fingers to her lips, “I am dancing. Do not interrupt the dancing.” Stunned, he stared and walked away as she returned to her revelry, basking in the glowing colors of the music and feeling invulnerable.

===

The next morning was significantly less delightful. Her body ached all over, her mouth felt like something had crawled in and died. Best of all, her head was pounding a drummer’s march. Yesterday, she had felt like a queen. Today, she was weak and insignificant once more, a half-breed failure even her father couldn’t love. Still, a thin smile graced her lips. She had a boyfriend. And she’d kissed him too. Maybe next time, he’d be the one to kiss her. Mentally, she reviewed the clothing she owned as it was less effort than getting out of bed. What would he like to see her wear? What would win… his approval? Something more revealing, no doubt.

With a groan she crawled out of bed, vaguely remembering his advice to drink more water. This much she could do.

One hand supported her head at the long breakfast table. A plate of milk porridge appeared before her, and she glanced up to thank Otto, their old family attendant. He smiled, and set down a steaming mug of spiced nettle tea, the perfect pick me up after a night of dancing. Her stomach gurgled, not quite ready for food, so she warmed her hands on the cup and inhaled the hot steam. Gay tapestries of bees pollinating flowering crops lined the outer limestone walls, mocking her in their industriousness. She leveled a baleful gaze at the tiny embroidered workers, and gazed out the narrow colored glass windows which thankfully muted the excessive sunlight.

“Is there anything more you might like, young mistress?” She shook her head and stared at him. He wore the brown robes of a servant with an long yellow overcoat indicating he was nevertheless of gold caste. She rarely had reason to interact with the lesser castes, as even their servants were golds. He was a kind man but also a proud one, keeping his salt and pepper beard neatly trimmed. He was also a living, breathing warning of what she’d become if she didn’t manifest her divine powers soon. Her face took a sour expression as she imagined herself becoming like him, a handmaiden to some uppity gold heiress; brushing her hair, serving her porridge, and asking if she would like anything else. There would be no dancing then, just the drudgery of service.

I have to ascend. I just have to, she told herself. I can‘t become like that. Death was almost preferable. Almost.

He was the last of his line too. His parents hadn’t ascended either, so he was not deemed fit for fertility rites by any of the other ladies of his sub-caste. At least her own mother was a goddess, so she would have the option to marry if she revealed herself to be a tarnished gold. Someone would probably take a chance in mating her with a first generation tarn servant, in the hopes of producing a true gold child.

Breeding mare, or lady in waiting. Great options there, Eir, she thought with a scowl.

“Are you displeased with your breakfast, young mistress? Is there anything else I could get you?” Otto said with a crease in his forehead. She covered her eyes. His worry at displeasing her, and the potential consequences of displeasing her, made the headache and fear all the worse. She wanted him to go away, to stop reminding her of her fate, to just stop talking.

She stopped herself from snapping at him and said, “No, everything’s fine, your service is impeccable. I’m simply not feeling well this morning. You may go.” Smiling back, he bowed and excused himself.

“Honey,” her mother enquired from the other end of the table, “what’s wrong?” Eyes wide and suddenly alert, Eir’s mouth worked soundlessly as she tried to assemble what she could safely tell her mother. What would her mother want to hear? She couldn’t just say she’d been given a potion…

“I… I met a boy last night, Mother. We drank too much. And danced too much. And now I have a hangover and my head is splitting and I don’t want to answer questions about him.” In an instant she found her head cradled in the gold and orange brocade of her mother’s bosom.

“Oh darling, that’s wonderful! Well, not the drinking too much of course – I know you’re not used to that – but that you made a friend and finally had fun dancing at the celebration. You know I’ve been worrying about you, and this is fantastic news.”

“Mother…” she groaned.

“Yes, yes,” she beamed, “I won’t ask you questions yet. I’m just happy for you, that’s all. You’re finally growing into a woman and I want you to know I’m very proud.”

Eir grunted. Her mother’s breasts were always comforting, but she also felt a tinge of guilt. It wasn’t exactly a lie, just not the whole truth, and she’d never kept secrets from her mother. But then, she’d never had a boyfriend either. Maybe secrets were part of growing up into an adult.

She couldn’t wait for the next Folksday evening celebration. That gave her three days to plan her outfit and brush up on her makeup skills. She grinned. Mother would be happy to help with that. Perfection was her passion, and she’d always been enthusiastic about teaching her makeup. Make that two days, she thought with a yawn. She’d cancel her dance lessons and head back to bed after breakfast.

===

Gösta sat alone at his small table, nursing an ale, watching the tavern’s patrons without looking up from the mug between his hands. He was not the only one wearing a worn cloak with the hood up, hiding his much finer clothes. The Rickety Barrel was exactly the sort of place where a noble could find shady characters to do their bidding with no questions asked. Far from the stone buildings of the gold district, this wooden shack was illuminated only by dirty clay oil lamps hanging from the rafters. A woman gave a shrill laugh and stumbled, drunk. An emerging fight was quieted by the barkeep bringing a round of mead to pacify a table of dice players. His forehead pinched, he waited.

Finally, another cloaked figure sat at his table.

“Progress?” the stranger asked.

“Indeed,” Gösta responded. “She is naive and isolated, never had a boyfriend. Doesn’t suspect a thing. I’ll need more of your special mead for the next phase. Number seven should do I think.”

“Very well, you’ll have it. Anything else?”

Gösta ran his toungue along his teeth. “No. Everything’s in place.”

“And after you are done?”

“She dies, of course,” the young noble shrugged. “Her power becomes mine. No witnesses.”

“Time is running short. Don’t frack this up, godling.”

The young man’s face soured, lips pursed. “No, of course.”

“It will be at the usual drop site then. Good day.” The stranger stood and left. Gösta let out a breath, looked around for any onlookers, then drained his sorry excuse for an ale. This had to work. He would make it work. Then they would all respect him and give him the dues he richly deserved.

===

Her head swam as she awoke, with hazy memories of the previous night. She smiled, even through the headache, and pulled the pillow over her face.

Her new friends weren’t so bad, once you got to know them. The crowd of teenagers that had surrounded Jaden were now her coterie, treating her like a princess at all the celebrations and eager to win her attention.

“Your makeup is so original,” one girl had said. “You simply must teach me how you do it.”

“I love your hair, darling, is it that your natural color or alchemy?”

“What an impressive outfit,” said another. “I’m not sure I could have pulled off wearing it!”

“Oh, that is so clever, princess! I never would have thought of such an insult. Why don’t you kick him again? Then we can find another of those fools who snubbed you and make them pay.”

“To party is to live, and to live is to party? Why yes, I agree. You’re a poet, milady. I shall take note of your words in my diary for safekeeping.”

“Ho, nice cleavage! But why stop at the belly button, let the slit go to your crotch next time. What have you got to hide? You’re gorgeous all the way down.”

She reveled in the attention, though they never came to her house or see her outside the parties. When she crossed their path during the day, they simply nodded to her and walked on, even when she called out to them. That had disquieted her at first, until one night when she confronted them about it.

“Oh, we’re just so busy during the day, darling. And to be frank, you’re not much fun when you’re sober. We like you much better like this.”

It‘s true, she thought as she squeezed the pillow against her face, I‘m pretty boring when I’m sober. And I don’t enjoy people as much. I’m too shy. I worry what people will think. Maybe I should ask for a vial to carry home, a little morning pick me up to get me through the day?

It was near noon when she made her way to the dining room table, and she groaned when she saw Mother there waiting for her.

“Darling,” the woman said with a curt nod. “Have a seat. Otto will bring breakfast shortly.”

“What now, Mother?” She sat and let her forehead rest on her hand atop the table.

“I’m not sure I like these new friends of yours.” Vanagreta’s lips worked in and out of a pucker, as if undecided between a bitter or sour flavor. “And you’ve been drinking altogether too much this past month.”

Silence stretched out until their manservant set down soft boiled eggs, bread and butter. With a sharp breath, Eir sat up and brought the plate closer.

“Mother, you were wild when you were young too. Don’t criticize me for doing the same, and don’t tell me who I can have as friends. Need I remind you how I came to be born once more?” She glared at her, and took an angry bite of her bread.

Looking skyward in a silent plea for patience, Gretta stared at her daughter, then rubbed her face.

“I don’t know what to do with you. Yes, I was happy you found friends, happy you had fun. But this? You’re falling apart. Look at those circles under your eyes! You’re coming home drunk as a soldier on leave, and you spend your days moping around. Or working on new outfits. This has to stop. I’m putting my foot down. No more.”

A deep anger boiled within Eir, rising up like a sea serpent from the depths, and she bared her teeth.

“You’ve had enough, have you Mother? Well I’ve had enough too!” she shouted. “Maybe if you’d bedded a Vanir instead of a foreigner, I’d have a father. Maybe I wouldn’t be a half-breed everyone shunned. Maybe I wouldn’t have a whore for a mother trying to teach me morality!”

As soon as the words were out, she gasped and covered her mouth. Her mother gaped, white as a sheet.

“To. Your. Room. Now! And I don’t want to see you until supper. You are grounded. No more parties. No more boyfriend. If you will not respect your own self, then by the Holy Mother of Gods, you will bloody well learn to respect your own Mother. Go. Out of my sight!”

The girl rose, mutely walked back to her room and closed the door behind her. Tapestries of birds covered the wall where her gaze fell. They were free, and she was not. Guilt and anger warred across her face as she went to flop face first on her bed. How would she meet her boyfriend if she was grounded? He’d said tonight was a special night, that he had something important to ask her.

She bit her lower lip, trying to imagine what he would ask. Betrothal? That was a bit premature. To make their courtship official, to declare his love? She rolled onto her back, smiling. Yes, that must be it. He would give her a crown of flowers and declare his love, shouting for all to hear. Finally, someone to love her.

But she frowned. He was not a patient man. If she didn’t show up, if he was there all night alone, might he not choose another woman for company? She was nothing special, she knew that. He could find someone prettier, more fun, more social, one who didn’t need potions to be interesting. He’d give up on her, and then all of her entourage would go with him and she’d be all alone again.

All alone, again. The thought spun around and around. And she remembered how badly she’d treated her old friends these past few weeks. Without him and the group, they would seek revenge. She would be worse off than before. Alone and without powers.

I can‘t lose him. I just can’t, she decided. Whatever it takes, I‘ll be out there tonight with him. I’ll sneak off, that’s all. Mother is being unreasonable and I’m not a child anymore. When our love is official, she will have to concede.

She crawled out of bed and started assembling her latest dress. It would be fabulous. And everything would work out, as long as she didn’t get caught. What was the worst that could happen?

Chapter 1 – Purity –

Battle raged all around, the screams of men, the splatter of blood from a battle axe plunged into a neck. And always, the howl of the wind. No, not the wind. The howl of women keening.

The men that fought were gray shadows of themselves, their shouts muted. Only the blood was bright, red, colorful. So much blood, everywhere. She walked in a daze between them, seeing other women in gleaming armor wandering with her. Here, one would pierce a man with her spear, watch him fall with a smirk, then reach into his gut like a carrion crow gorging on innards. The women‘s coloration looked more normal, but their hands and arms became shiny with blood when they reached into a corpse . And there, from deep inside the wounds, they would pull out their prize with an ululating shout of joy, holding it aloft. She couldn’t quite make out what they had in their hands, only that it was dazzling, like staring at the sun, and she had to look down.

Her own arms, she realized, were also covered in glinting metal, and in her hand was a weapon. Curved like a sickle, it was sharp on both sides, to hook and to slash, to trap and to tear.

Looking up, she saw her own target, a bear of a man who fought and slashed with the fearless ferocity of a boar. His blade circled with slashes all around, and wherever he struck, men fell.

“Odin will be pleased,” she heard herself say as a smile formed on her face. Raising the sickle blade as she advanced on her prey, she blocked one of his slashes and trapped the sword. Perplexed as to why his blade had stopped in mid-air for no apparent reason, he looked around warily, pausing his carnage. That was enough distraction for a spear point to bloom through his gut, and she laughed at the surprised look on his face as he glanced down. The spear was pulled back, and he roared, freeing his blade and whipping around to decapitate his slayer. Which he did, but then the rapid blood loss caught up to him and he fell to his knees.

“Don’t like to kill them, do you?” a female voice said beside her.

“No need,” she answered.” A distraction suffices, and I have enough blood on my hands. And now if you’ll excuse me, I have a core to claim…”

Drenched in sweat and panting, the copper haired lass sat up in bed. Eyes wild, she scanned her bedroom. No blood. No warriors. Just a peaceful morning with birds chirping outside. She clutched the fluffy down comforter, crushing it between her hands.

“Just a dream. It was. Just. A. Dream.”

Her mother opened the door, dressed in a rich brocade of yellows and gold thread embroidery. Real gold. They were royals after all.

“Darling, I heard you scream,” she said with a crease on her forehead. “Did you have that awful dream again?”

Eir nodded, catching her breath and cursing softly. She threw off the covers and grabbed a green robe that hung on the bedpost at the foot of her bed.

“I hate the Aesir, Mother, hate them! And no matter how many dreams they send me, I will never go to Asgard. They are cruel, bloodthirsty barbarians and I am not one of them!”

“Of course you aren’t,” her mother cooed as she embraced her daughter and caressed the copper hair that matched her own. “You’ll stay right here in Vanaheim and enjoy the Peace of Mother Nerthus.” She felt her daughter relax, head on her breast, and then tense up again. “What’s the matter darling?”

“No matter what I do, they’ll still call me a half-breed. I’m sixteen, and I still don’t have my powers. Did you have to pick the most hapless, powerless Asa-man who came ashore? You won’t tell me his name, so I can’t even curse him!”

Her mother looked away, making shushing sounds.

“Names have power, precious. If we say his name, he may hear us. You know how devious the Aesir are in their sorcery. So you must never say his name. Understood?”

“Yes, Mother,” she agreed.

“And a lesser Aesir is a lesser evil. I cannot undo his blood in your veins, but I can minimize the harm. I would call it a youthful mistake, but honestly, there is nothing about you that I can regret. If not for this folly, you would not have been born. And you are my cup of joy. I love you darling, more than anything. Please believe that.”

“Love you too, Mother,” the girl answered with a sigh.

===

The celebration went about like it always did.

Musicians bowed and plucked jaunty melodies on the strings of their langspil. Drummers thundered on their flat drums. Flautists wandered through the crowd, dancers making dust rise by the beating of their feet on the ground of the commons. Boring. So boring. First Harvest was no better than the Seed Dance. She leaned against the drinks table, an enormous tree stump polished and engraved. Not that she drank anything more than watered ale. It was just the only place to lean and look at something other than people enjoying themselves at dusk. She could be at home, embroidering something nice, or perhaps making up a dance to the tune of her dwarven music boxes. She did love to dance. Just not here.

“Ho, freak, did you break your nose falling from Asgard? Because your face looks like a turd.”

She sighed, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath as she flattened the green brocade of her dress.

“Jaden,” she hissed at the brown haired boy, “my favorite former friend, how goes your dear mother? Has she recovered from that embarrassing encounter with a cow on the road?”

“Sod off,” he spat, “that was years ago.”

“And yet,” she tutted with a finger on her chin, eyes aloft, “people are still talking about that manure. Why, I believe it was exactly the color of your shirt. And that winged collar of yours, wasn’t that fashionable last year?”

“Half-breed filth,” he muttered as he grabbed a wine cup and stormed off.

There was no escaping it, she’d have to mingle and set all these buffoons in their place once more.

“Getting pudgy, Ingrid?” she said to one girl who glared while she passed. “Maybe you shouldn’t be eating so much cheese, I hear it makes you fart. I mean, fart more than you usually do.” The girl blushed as Eir giggled and continued through the crowd.

“Algot,” she crooned to a dark haired boy, “stop making that face, it will get stuck that way.”

He didn’t reply, just turning heel and walking straight off. She smirked. Maybe now they’d leave her alone with her misery.

Maybe I‘m worthless, she thought, a wretched half-breed without a father, but you are all less than worthless. Nearsighted morons the lot of you. Why won‘t you just leave me alone? I don’t need anyone. I’m fine. Just fine.

But she wasn’t fine. She was desperately lonely. The few friends she’d had as a child had all turned on her. Whispers from parents about her father had turned into whispers between children. They saw her as different, and for a child, different was never good. Not being a fighter, she had sharpened her ears and tongue into weapons of social destruction. She was heading back to the table when she heard an outcry, making her head swivel like an owl’s. Whatever was scream-worthy would be juicy enough to serve as future arrows in her quiver.

Half-dancing, she made her way through the colorfully dressed swaying crowd, dodging couples with an easy grace. And there on the ground, surrounded by jeering faces, was Jaden – his shirt thoroughly soaked and nose bleeding between his fingers. Her breath caught when at first glance she thought him covered in blood, but relaxed realizing it was red wine.

“What’s your problem?” he shouted up to a tall thin boy with almost white blond hair and a cruel smile. A single spot of red was on the shoulder of his pale tunic. I decided to nickname him Ghost.

“Do not talk to my girlfriend,” the thin boy sneered. “Do not approach her. Do not even think of her. Or I will see you tied to a rock at the bottom of the lake. Do I make myself clear?”

Jaden tried to get up, but Ghost’s boot caught him in the face and pushed him down. The circle of teens around them were muttering malicious comments to each other with the mounting excitement of wolves smelling blood. Prey. A wounded member of the herd. I looked around, but older folk were so wrapped up in their dance that they didn’t see. Or if they did see, didn’t care enough to intervene.

Ghost stepped onto Jaden’s hand, crushing it with a twist that summoned another scream.

“I said, do I make myself clear?”

“Go fornicate cows,” Jaden glared up through gritted teeth.

This was getting out of hand. He may have been an oaf, but he was still a former friend. A good friend, once upon a time. Eir let out a breath and stepped into the circle, painting a lazy smile on her face as she started clapping.

“Bravo, bravo, well done whoever you are,” she purred. “I’ve been wanting to teach this fool a real lesson for ages, and here you come and do it for me.”

Ghost turned his head to her, brows furrowed.

“And I’m not done yet,” he said, slightly bored. “Please step aside, fair lady, so that I may finish his lessoning.”

She blinked, and felt a flutter of pleasure. When was the last time a boy had called her pretty? She couldn’t remember.

I do a good deed and get a compliment, she thought. Maybe this party isn‘t a complete waste of time after all. She had to admit, the mean boy was kind of handsome.

“Pish posh,” she said with a wave of the hand, “he’s my whipping boy, has been for years. I can’t just let anyone step in and break him, now can I? What would I amuse myself with? I don’t even know your name.”

His eyes narrowed, then widened as he looked her up and down. He liked what he was seeing, and she felt that flutter again.

“I am Gösta, Gösta Arvidsson. And who, lovely lady, might you be?” Preening, she took a curtsy, and lowered her head to stifle a giggle. Her nickname wasn’t so off after all.

“I am Eir Grettasdottir.” At his blank stare, she frowned. “But you may know me better as Eir Föðurlaus.”

“Oh. Ohhhh. Eir the fatherless. I have indeed heard of you,” he said as he bowed.

“Do you mind getting off my hand while you flirt?” Jaden whined. He was a stocky sort, not at all like the almost elfin Gösta.

The tall boy’s face twitched in displeasure, but he stepped off his fallen foe to approach her.

“And it is indeed a pleasure to meet you,” he said as he took her hand, brushing lips against its back. She swallowed, heart pattering. Since when did boys pay attention to her? No herald had announced this news. “Ah, let me fetch you a refreshment. I shall return,” and with that he strode off.

Gathering her skirts, she went to crouch near Jaden and stared at him.

“Why did you do that?” he asked in a sullen tone. “I had it under control.”

“Of course you did. And you’re welcome, not that I expect any thanks.”

“So why did you do it?”

“Because,” she glared, “it pisses me off when I need help and everyone looks the other way. Just like they did with you now. I swear, ‘not my problem’ should be engraved on the crest of Vanaheim. Why can’t people just help each other, or at least not make things worse?”

“That’s fair, I guess,” he said with downcast eyes. “Thank you.”

“Now I’m going to have to make this look good for the crowd, else he’ll come back and finish what he started. Just know that no matter what I say or do, Jaden, you’re still a horse’s ass and I despise you for the torment you’ve put me though.”

He looked up, confused. “Whaaat?”

Then she slapped him.

“Putrid little beast,” she said aloud, “do not get in my way again, or I’ll do worse than he did.” She rose with all the grace her royal training afforded her, saw the approval of the cruel crowd, and turned heel just in time for Gösta to arrive with a golden cup in hand. She felt a sudden cold sweat. That had been too close. He had almost heard her being merciful to the oaf. Mercy, or at least the appearance of such, was not something she could afford. Not if she wanted to survive and maybe have a boyfriend! It gave her no strain to let a great smile grace her face.

===

Later in the evening, a thought crossed her mind as they sat under a tree. Alone. With bushes between them and the crowd. And his eyes roving all over her.

“Didn’t you say you had a girlfriend?” She asked with a cock of her head.

He laughed. “No, she’s my cousin. But I couldn’t very well stop him from pestering a relative, could I? A sister, certainly. This was more convincing. He won’t be bothering her again.”

“I don’t know,” she chuckled, “he’s pretty thick headed.”

“Oh,” he said with an arched eyebrow. “Should I continue his lesson then?”

“No, no, I think you made enough of an impression for him to remember a while.”

“My turn for a question. Why,” he gestured over her torso, “do you hide that lovely body of yours under thick shapeless brocades?”

She took a sip to hide her reddening face and think of an answer. “People tease me when I dress up. They tease me when I look plain. Plain is less effort, and has less bits for them to pull on.”

“What, are they twelve? Do they actually pull your hair and ribbons?”

She looked away, eyes moist, and gave a tiny nod.

“But…” he looked aghast, gripping the grass, “you’re of the royal line. You are superior to all of them in rank.”

“And that does me absolutely no good at all. Doesn’t matter to any of them,” she said with a lump in her throat, looking to the ground. “I haven’t even come into my powers, and I don’t know if I ever will. To them I’m just a dirty half-breed, a reminder of what they lost to the Aesir. They don’t see me. They see someone who took away Frey, who enslaved Freya, who robbed them of Njord. It’s not fair. It’s not like I chose who my father was. And nobody cares.”

He lifted her chin and stared into her eyes. His were icy blue. “I care,” he said.

And that is when all her sorrow and all her resentment burst like a dam. She started sobbing and couldn’t stop. No one, no one had cared outside of her household.

He took her into his arms and let her cry herself out. Someone finally cared for her, and it was the grandest thing in all the Nine Worlds.

Prologue – Nations At War

Odin’s daughter cried out when she was born – a wail worthy of any Valkyrie announcing the death and sorrows to come. It made him proud, showing her battle spirit was strong. Even the chanting crescendo of seven midwives was not as loud as the scream of his newborn shield-maiden. Strips of red cloth hung from all rafters in the birthing hall, and blessings rained down from these like the blood of her ancestors, drop by drop in the dim light of clay oil lamps. None sat on the benches lining the side walls, and green fresh-cut grasses carpeted the ground of the birchwood longhouse. Three log pillars supported the roof. The women, clustered near the one at the front, used the door flap to let in more air as needed. He was at the opposite end, where breathing was more challenging. Burning pine sap vapors filled his nostrils with a cleansing scent, made cloying by the stifling heat. His blue tunic was soaked, clinging to his skin, sweat dripping from his brow onto the thundering drum he held.

The youngest midwife poured one last ladle of reddish water upon hot stones in the pit at the center of the hall, raising a scalding cloud of steam. Until now, that hiss had been the grandmothers and grandfathers breathing life into this new spark. The last pouring though, that was for the first breath of the babe, and the warming steam all around saved her from the cold shock of separation. It eased the transition from the womb to the world.

He had lost so many good people during the war, it was good to see new life from his loins. When her end came, as it comes to all, seven mourners would raise wails within these walls to ease her passage from the world into the mists beyond. To the Vanir, death and birth were journeys that mirrored each other, Odin reflected as he pounded the last birthing beats on his oiled drum. For now though, his heart swelled with joy and a large grin split his face. It was time to approach his newest daughter!

His lover’s golden braid had come loose while she clung to the thick vertical birthing rope, knotted to serve as handholds. She was finally allowed to sit, and the babe was bathed before being placed in her arms.

“She’s beautiful,” he breathed as he knelt before her, eyes ablaze in wonder.

“And she will go where I cannot,” Vanagreta nodded in exhausted exhilaration as she cradled her child close.

===

The Asa-King reveled in the simple life of fatherhood, watching the little girl learn to walk.

“Come to me, Eir,” he said from his seat in the leisure hall next to the central fire. The mansion had many rooms, for his lady was a noble of the royal line of Nerthus. He may have been a fool for a pretty face, but he wanted to be a comfortable fool. More than that, he had wanted to sire powerful children while in Vanaheim – ones he hoped would return with him to Asgard.

She giggled, stood up on shaky legs, and waddled over into his waiting arms. She squeaked as he picked her up and scrunched her face at the tickle of his graying beard.

“I wish you hadn’t given her a low caste name,” Vanagreta said, leaning cross armed in the door frame.

“Her hair is copper, it seemed appropriate to name her that,” he shrugged. “And it won’t matter if she ever comes to Asgard.”

“Which she won’t,” the lady countered with an arched eyebrow.

“Of course, darling,” he said with a well-practiced smile. “It was just a stray thought.”

“Don’t think I don’t know your mind, you old schemer!” she scolded with a bemused expression.

He simply nodded, held up the babe, and continued dreaming of the goddess she might become.

===

Like a fight between lovers, the Aesir-Vanir war had begun as a misunderstanding – a poorly chosen word; a perceived disrespect. Insults followed, like steel striking flint; tempers smoldered and fell upon the dry grass of old grievances. Then bloody bodies dropped, and there was no going back, as the flames of vengeance spread and clouded even the keenest minds with hatred.

The sky gods had waged years of war against the earth gods, though neither gained the upper hand. Peace-loving Frigga sent her messenger maiden to Nerthus many times before a truce could be forged. The Aesir lass flew across the sky upon her steed Hoof-Tosser, to the consternation of many Vanir below. “What flies there?” they asked, “What fares there? Or moves through the air?” In answer, they only had the ringing echoes of Gna’s elfin laughter, her being daughter to an Alfar and a Wind.

Once hostilities had halted, Odin called upon his menfolk and those of the Vanir to come together and seal this alliance. They spoke and they spat to seal their promise of peace. But saliva of gods was deemed so holy that it could not to be wasted, and thus they had all spit into a vat. The collective wisdom of deities was mixed with precious powders and shaped into the form of a man. This man was named Kvasir, and he was wisest of them all, for no question could be asked to which he did not have an answer. They rejoiced at this great miracle, but argued about where he should live. The Vanir claimed the all-knowing man as one of their own, and so did the Aesir. Were it not for Snotra’s soothing words and Gna’s great diplomacy, it would have come to blows and broken the budding alliance.

Njord was the one who found the solution, though the cost to him was great. He and his children, Frey and Freya, volunteered to live in Asgard as peace hostages. Then Odin offered his oracular uncle Mimir and his quiet brother Hoenir to the Vanir. This arrangement went well at first. So well in fact, that Odin had gone with a number of his men to visit Vanaheim.

“We of Asgard are mighty, but we are few,” Odin had told his Aesir companions as they sailed, “and we need to populate our land with more strong sons and daughters. So I urge you to befriend the mightiest of their women, to gain their trust and their lust, so that you may sire more children for our tribe. Do this, and I will reward you with a position on my council.” The men smiled and nodded, for Odin had chosen those who would enjoy such a task. Thor was left at home to defend the kingdom – their virtuous defender would never have agreed to such a plan.

“This will, of course, help cement the peace between our peoples, so it is not entirely selfish. Give them pleasure, and only do so with their consent. Even if hatred still burns within your heart for the lives they took, we do not wish to give them reason to start the war anew. Let us take this chance instead to learn to love our new allies,” the Aesir king said with a wink, and received a chorus of chuckles from his audience.

It was Vanagreta whom Odin seduced, the Pearl of the Vanir. She was a daughter of the Royal Line of Nerthus, and her power lay in bringing perfection to the crops. Under her care, the kernels of wheat grew plumper with each planting, and the carrots grew sweeter, as she carefully selected which seeds to bless and propagate from the best of the previous year. With an eye toward improving her own progeny, she had accepted the advances of the All-Father during many nights of passion, and soon grew with child. Their romance could be told, but that would be another story.

While the Asa-men seduced their way across the land, the Vanir grew discontent with their hostages. They had made Odin’s brother Hoenir a chieftain among them, but whenever he was asked an opinion on a difficult issue at assemblies, he said others should decide. Suspecting they had been cheated with a half-wit for a hostage, one of the Vans flew into a rage. Yet it was not on the useless Hoenir that his anger focused, but rather on the far more valuable oracle of Asgard.

Gifted with prophecy, Mimir’s eyes unfocused as he saw his own doom unfolding. Alas there was nothing he could do to forestall it. Every choice he could make ended in his death, and so he let the Vans push him down onto a table while he muttered an incantation. A battle axe came down moments after his final words, and the head rolled. Most men would have lost consciousness from shock, but the ancient giant was made of sterner stuff – for what little good it did him. And so he survived decapitation for another full minute, silently praying for the wellbeing of his sister Vör. If anyone had inspected him then, they would have spied the tears he shed, for now she would be more alone than ever as an ancient giantess in Asgard.

No longer will I be able to watch out for you, little sister, I am so sorry I got you involved in the plans of my nephew, were his final thoughts before darkness extinguished this mighty mind.

Wrapped in a blanket, the Vans sent their message of displeasure in a willow basket.

===

Three loud raps on the door were heard, but Odin saw none before him when he opened it. A peal of thunder was heard as he sought his visitor through the rain, but only a wicker cradle lay on his doorstep. Curious, he took it in and peeled back the cloth.

When the Asa-King peered down at the grisly package though, he grew grim, blood draining from his face – almost matching the gray of his tunic and beard. Setting it down, he pressed palms to his eyes and attempted to steady his ragged breathing while his lover approached.

“What is wrong, my darling?” She asked, brows furrowed in concern. Then she saw the unseeing dead eye peeking from the basket, and took a step back.

“Me and my kin have overstayed our welcome,” he said with a quivering voice, “and I must depart.”

Vanagreta cried and then raged, commanding him to remain and raise their daughter who was now three winters old.

“You must stay! Your daughter needs you. And I need you. You cannot just leave. We have a…”

“Would that I could,” he interrupted in sorrow, as he had come to care deeply for them both, “but I must return to my home while my neck and head remain attached. It is not safe for me to stay.”

“Coward!” she cried as she beat upon his chest, golden hair coming undone from its braids. “This is the deed of one man, a few at most. Nerthus will see justice done!”

Little Eir woke and wandered to the doorway. She spied upon her screaming mother, clutching in confusion the wolf doll given by her father.

“No, it is time for me to go. But you could come with me,” he continued, eyebrows raised high in hope.

“And what? Be your mistress? I know well that you have a wife, and hold no wish to join the hostages our people have lost. Certainly not as a mere concubine!”

“It’s not like that,” he protested weakly. “You’d be honored as…”

“Go,” she said through clenched teeth, turning around to hide her tears. “Go and be cursed, you cowardly scum. I curse you once, that you shall never see your daughter again, for I shall raise her to hate you. I curse you again, that you shall lose what you treasure most, for I am goddess of pearls and perfection. Thrice I curse you, that you shall forget your daughter’s name as soon as you leave this house, so that you may not seek her out.”

With a heavy hearted groan, Odin looked once more at unblinking eye of his uncle in the basket, then to his daughter. He went to one knee and embraced her one final time as she ran to him, whispering a charm in her ear as he did.

“Daddy?” the girl whimpered. “Don’t you love me?”

He pursed his lips tight, holding back tears, and then disentangled from her arms as he stood.

“No,” he lied. “You were a selfish mistake, and I don’t need you anymore.” He would not have her pining for a missing father. Better to make a clean cut and let the wound heal.

“But Daddy…”

“Live a good life, my little copper cup of joy, and forget about the foolish man who sired you. I wish… I… I wish things could have been different. Grow wise,” he said, and as his voice grew hoarse with emotion he added, “If there is any part of me that lives within you, then make your mother proud.” His throat closed then, allowing no further words to leave his lips. Only a soft rasp of anguish rumbled as his fists opened and closed, hands that would likely never hold the girl again.

Her doll fell from her grasp as she erupted into tears of mewling lament. Turning her head, she witnessed her father take his wide brimmed hat and cloak, slipping them on as he regarded her with a weary haunted gaze. She barely saw him go out into the rain, eyes clouded by her own downpour of salty drops.

Her mother, still turned away, wrung her own hands but never looked back.

Once outside, he blinked, and the past three years grew hazy in his memory – as if they had been a dream. Yet the head of his Mimir drew his attention, and he assumed that the wetness upon his cheeks was for that loss. Grief now struck him full force as he walked away, face stern, yet soaked by the storm of his eyes that would not cease.

As he journeyed back to his ship, he felt a hollow ache within his breast. A part of his very soul had been stolen and he vowed to get it back, whatever it was, so that it could fill the terrible heart void he felt. He was a king though, not a bare-cheeked lad weeping over lost loves. With clenching jaw and narrowing eyes, he stopped at a market. He would need embalming herbs to preserve the head.

]]>https://lofnbard.wordpress.com/2018/09/12/fatherless-eir-prologue/feed/6lofnbardBirthing RopeA Guide for Young Ladies Entering the Service of the Fairieshttps://lofnbard.wordpress.com/2016/11/28/service-of-fairies/
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Light and Dark Alfar, the difference is slighter than one might think, and I will advise this: do not go to them without first having friends in high and low places. It’s not the sort of place where you want to stand alone on your own merit, not without having those who would look for you if you became lost. I don’t mean physically vanishing. Have a look at my story ‘Not The Tree’ for an example of how the Light may be “kind” in granting humans their desires (see the story index).

I’ve heard very similar stories whispered, which I’ve written down for my Ladies — most lately in editing Sjofn’s. This short piece is beautifully written and I thought it worth re-posting. Good fairy tales hold warnings that are best heeded.

What would the Norns (Fates) think of Trump’s election? As a seer, it’s important to see the forces at work and understand Newton’s Third Law: For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. This result is bad, but not as bad as you may think.

This is an opinion piece, but it relates to how a seer views events of history in such a way as to get some sleep at night. I hope it gives Democrats some comfort. And if you’re Republican, congratulations on your win. Remember that the only constant is change.

There’s a story about a farmer whose horse runs away. “How terrible!” say the neighbors.

“Eh, maybe,” replies the farmer.

His son goes to find the horse and catches a wild stallion at the same time. “How lucky!” say the neighbors.

“Eh, maybe,” replies the farmer.

While training their new stallion, his son gets thrown off and breaks his leg. “How terrible!” say the neighbors.

“Eh, maybe,” replies the farmer.

The next day, war breaks out and all able young men are conscripted. The son with the broken leg is of course exempted. How lucky!” say the neighbors.

“Eh, maybe.”

An event is only good or bad in retrospect. When it happens, it’s hard to tell whether it may be an immediate good for long term harm, immediate harm for long term good, or simply what it seems to be.

The Three Force At Work

American politics are all about two sides locked in an eternal war of good versus evil. Which one is good depends on which side you’re on. In Hinduism there aren’t two sides, there are three, and this may help us understand what’s going on. The three gunas, the strands that bind to manifestation, are as follows:

Goodness (Sattva): Contentment. The preserving force, strives to unite and maintain perfection. It shows the truth that we are all connected and allows acceptance.

Darkness (Tamas): Fear. The decaying force, strives to separate, obscure and destroy. It gives the illusion that we are all separate, with fear driving the urge to gather more power and dominate others to be safe.

Passion (Rajas): Desire. The changing force, strives to improve and diversify. It is consumed by a need to improve and experience variety.

These three work in a cycle. A fruit on a tree starts in Passion as it grows, matures, and tries to be the best it can be. When it reaches its summit of juicy sweetness, it is in Goodness, and tries to stay that way. That is of course impossible. Then it goes into Darkness, falls and becomes separated from its nourishing tree, decaying back into compost that will feed the tree.

Another way to see them is as a planet orbiting a sun. Goodness is gravity, the force that attracts the planet to its sun. Should it succeed, the planet will fall into its star and “become one” with it in a fiery act of transmutation. Darkness is the centrifugal force that tries to rip the planet away into space. Imagine you’re spinning a ball on a string, the faster you spin it, the more it tries to pull away. Should this force succeed, the planet will be plunged into darkness, becoming a frozen rock in the empty void. Passion is the orbiting force, not really a force but a balance of the other two. When in balance in the sweet zone, life thrives and multiplies into an endless diversity. Evolution happens.

So now let’s look at some of the forces at work within a very brief timeline. Remember that the cycle goes through Passion, Goodness, Darkness, and then loops again. These phases overlap as each new phase gains steam and momentum.

Darkness: Look at the early 90’s. Sexism and racism were rampant, but few people talked about it. The situation was obscured. It just wasn’t a big issue to most people.

2012 Idle No More begins in Canada and Native American protests increase in the US.

2013 was the start of #BlackLivesMatter.

2016 Charlotte NC passes trans-friendly bathroom bill.

2016 Gay marriage becomes legal in the United States.

Goodness: You’d think Goodness means making things better, but what it really means is being content with things the way they are, keeping the status quo and not rocking the boat. So in this case, it’s #BlueLivesMatter in reaction to #BlackLivesMatter. GamerGate in reaction to games having more options for female players.

2000 Marriage is defined as being between a man and a woman in California. This starts a long chain of states making similar laws to prevent same sex marriage.

2011 Push to redefine fetuses as “persons” and make abortions murder.

2014 Gamergate begins, female game writers receive rape and death threats. This is after a few years of complaints by women to have female playable characters and not be stuck with “bikini armor.” Gamergaters attack Social Justice Warriors that are “ruining our games with feminism”

2016 Bathroom Wars begin with North Carolina’s law against trans people.

Trump promises a “bloodbath” if he loses the elections.

Darkness Path 1– Hillary Wins: About half the population voted for Trump. That’s a lot of angry people. A Hillary win preserves standing legal protections to women’s rights, contraception, abortion, LGBT rights, and racial discrimination. But it doesn’t stop angry people from getting angrier and taking increasingly violent actions as they feel their voices aren’t heard. Liberal city slickers get their way over conservative Christian values. Some people have voiced the possibility of a civil war breaking out, or increasing Christian domestic terrorism. Those actually seem likely. Nothing an un-charismatic Clinton can say will pop this pimple of festering hatred. It gets worse and worse, just not through legal means. Liberals mean well, but are for the most part impotent to do anything when not outright apathetic. No one trusts the government, and society starts falling apart. Democrats are demoralized and fail to take action.

Darkness Path 2– Trump Wins: Conservatives get their man in power, and they’re happy about it. They have big parties. They control congress and senate, so they can roll laws back to the 1950s. Gay, trans, trans, immigrants and uppity women get crushed under the heavy boot. People die. A lot of people die. Not in mass shootings and bombings like the previous dark path, but through newly instated discrimination and lack of legal protection. The loss of rights is sharply felt by everyone except white Christian men. Women who thought feminism wasn’t important start to realize that maybe it was. Blacks get slaughtered and outrage increases. Queers get murdered at an even higher rate. Outrage increases. Immigrants and visible minorities live in constant fear. Previously passive liberals get angry, very angry. The government tells people what they can do in their bedrooms. Comments about Hitler and concentration camps abound. The pimple gets popped.

Passion Path 1– Hillary Wins: The Christian Right leads a revolution to reshape the US under the Dominionist view that laws must be based on the Bible. Angry people change the world.

Passion Path 2– Trump Wins: The reality of what Trump stands for becomes clear, and the Republican party implodes under the strain of its internal conflicts. Liberals lead a new movement whose name we do not yet know in reclaiming their rights through grassroots mobilizations, and those who were previously passive now take an active role. Angry people change the world.

Conclusion: So yeah, I’m sad Clinton lost. Things will massively suck for a while but this had to happen. All the social justice progress we’ve seen has created its counter-force, and that force has to expend itself somehow. It can do so from the top down with Trump, or from the ground up with Clinton. But I think the Trump path is better in the long term. All things contain the seeds of their own destruction. The Norns care little for individual lives, and I think they’re satisfied with how things turned out. It’s a cold and callous call to make, but that’s their job. Because humans are dumb and that has to be taken into account. I hope this rant helps you sleep a little better at night. And to those that come under the boot, I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. I wish there was a better way. Because I’m just a seer, not a Norn, and those are my friends who are about to die.

But since I’m also a bard, there’s a Pagan song by Leslie Fish at the top that may cheer you.

Read here how to use the Goddess Mirror in devotional practice and spiritwork. For the why, history and design, consult the previous post (linked here).

Introduction— Devotional Tools for Goddesses

Using The Mirror — Prayer and Consecration

Frigga’s Eye — Core Symbolism

Frigga’s Court — Line 1

Devotional Calendar — Line 2

Heavenly Harmony— Lines 3,4,5

Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall — Using the Shiny Side

Toli, The Shaman’s Mirror

Thoughts on Sacred Tool Design

This article explores how to use custom devotional tools in building relationships with deities, the benefits of a devotional calendar, debugging tips for those having trouble with getting a connection, and a detailed user’s guide to sacred mirrors from a Northern Tradition Pagan point of view. It’s certainly also applicable to Heathen practices.

I believe the advice here will be of general interest when making your own sacred tools. I’ll first give suggest how to consecrate the mirror and use it in daily prayer. Then we’ll explore its symbolism, what the inscriptions mean, and how they can be used for spiritual work. Regular prayer with any holy symbol is how you make it holy.

Making the Second Mirror

It took me six months to design and a week to make my goddess mirror prototype, which I’ve been using for a year and a half. The brass disk I used was a one shot find, and I didn’t expect others would want their own. I was wrong. I got asked earlier this year to make another one

The request came from a Pagan Facebook friend who wanted to offer it as a birthday gift to his daughter. Well, she was assigned male at birth, and he wanted a gift that showed his love and acceptance of her womanhood. That’s beautiful! How could I say no to that? I have many trans women and trans men friends. Symbols of affirmation are important, I had to do it. Plus, more people honoring my Ladies is why I made this blog. When queers like myself look to the gods, we want to find those like us as inspiration, and a number of these Ladies are queer themselves. So I act as bard and spiritual matchmaker in my service.

I had a two month deadline to get it done on time. What with ordering tools from China, and finding the brass at a reasonable price, I barely made it, and she was thrilled. Yay! I even managed to cover my costs and pay some of my time.

It needed a user’s manual though. Otherwise it’s just a pretty shiny thing. This is the user’s manual I wrote for her.

Introduction— Devotional Tools for Goddesses

The Sky Goddess mirror is both a tool and a toy. First and foremost, it is a holy symbol to be used in meditation, prayer and devotion to the Ladies of Asgard. Yet it also invites play. You can see how it reflects the world around, feel the writing with your fingers, make sunlight dance across walls, polish it while chanting a mantra, balance it on a finger and ring it like a bell with a pen, play tactile games, spin it around, lay it against parts of your body, hold it in various ways, move small stones on it like a board game, decide which segment should be at the top for a day, drum on it with a pen, etc. It’s touchable, shiny, pretty, and inviting. Even laying on a table or mount, there’s plenty to look at without getting bored. The names can be read or chanted aloud as you consider the relationship between any two Ladies. You can even use it to design music for string instruments, or play a chord while you commune with the goddess it belongs to. Simply put, it’s fun to play with for spiritual purposes.

As a whole, the engraved symbolism is about harmony and balance. It might be said that the Aesir gods guide folks in living honorably and gaining wisdom, facing personal battles with courage to be victorious. With wit and weapons, the core of their adventures lays in defeating fearsome giants. Not so with the women. Even vengeful Skadhi’s tale is not about murder but about peace-weaving between enemies. There are few tales of monster-slaying goddesses because that’s not their domain. They may have to kill, but that’s never the end-goal.

Defusing conflict, cooperation, and befriending opponents are more the tools of their trade. It’s not the monster at your door you should fear — it’s the one in your home, in your bed, in your heart. Despair, depression, and feeling worthless can stop a hero from ever setting foot on her journey of self-discovery and transformation. No sword is sharp enough to slay the demons within. It is thus not with a hammer or spear that the goddesses arm you, but with an unpolished mirror. As you seek yourself in its reflection, it is at first cloudy, hazy, dirty and blemished. This is normal. Everyone starts that way. So what will you do about it?

Using The Mirror— Prayer and Consecration

Frigga’s Mantra:“Ráð þú mér nú, Frigg” (”counsel me now, Frigga”)

If you like chanting foreign language mantras in meditation, so you’re less distracted by the meaning of the words you’re saying, this Poetic Edda quote is excellent in praying to Frigga for inspiration. It’s better sung using “Frigga” than “Frigg” though. The Old Norse pronunciation is approximately thus: “Raath Thuu meer nuu, Frig-ga.”

Ásynjur Morning Prayer

With the rising of Sunna, I hail you,Gentle goddesses, strong and wise.Help me to be true to myself,My gods and my commitments today.

Walk with me, Ladies,Be my shield, oh goddesses, be my strength.Grace me with your presencesAs I order my day through your wisdom.

Ásynjur Night Prayer

Look upon me this night with grace,Oh goddesses.I give thanks for this day,Both in boons and tangled unfoldings.May my lips always praise youAnd my heart ever do you honor,Hail Asynjur!

Consecration: There are two main schools of thought on how to charge a magical tool to make it sacred. The first is to cleanse and enchant it. The second is to have it acquire power through repeated usage. I’ll give suggestions for each method, and it’s okay to do both. On a purely mundane level, repeating any ritual action over a period of time makes it a trigger for your mind to go into “spiritual mode.”

Cleansing by Water: Get a large enough bowl to dip the mirror into. Fill it with water, add a pinch of salt. Rinse the mirror in the bowl, repeatedly saying:

“Water run clear, water run pure, clean this mirror to its core.”

Cleansing by Fire: Light a candle. Incense will do in a pinch, but herbs are better. White Sage is most popular in First Nations traditions. Mugwort is its northern European equivalent, though it grows everywhere in the Northern hemisphere. Pick something to burn, and move the mirror through its smoke, saying repeatedly:

“Fire burn with sacred smoke, dispel all darkness from my sight.”

Charging the mirror: This one’s common sense. To charge a magic mirror, you polish it. If you like the tarnish and are doing it purely as a magical gesture, then you can simply polish it with a rough cloth. Wet your cloth with vinegar if you want to see more changes in color. If you really want it to give a clear reflection (which is not necessary for its usage), you’ll need some sort of very mildly abrasive paste. To remove tarnish, use one of the commonly sold cleaners for silverware. To remove really rough spots and for a thorough sanding, I use Scotch-Brite or similar plastic scrubbing pads. For the edges, fine grit sanding paper.

Since the main point of polishing is to charge the mirror, rather than clean it, you need to pick an intent and make some sort of mantra or chant for yourself. What do you want the mirror to do for you? Tell it that, over and over. You can polish it for ten minutes or ten hours. This is a meditation, you can do a bit of it each day, or once a week as you enchant your mirror for what you want. For mine, I spoke of true sight, and reflecting hidden truths on the reflective side (shamans look at their patient’s reflection to diagnose illnesses). For the inscribed side, it was about a doorway to see and speak to the Asynjur.

Making the Mirror Holy: There’s only one way to truly make it a holy symbol. Without this step, it’s just a pretty piece of metal on a shelf. You have to pray with it, day after day. Speak into it, let your breath caress it, as if it were a doorway to the goddesses through which they could hear you. Feel the coolness of its edge against your forehead. Hold it to your heart. I’ve shared the daily prayers I use above (morning and night prayers adapted from Sigyn-Lady of the Staying Power, by Galina Krasskova and Fuensanta Plaza).

Frigga’s Eye— Core Symbolism

So Frigga wandered, asking all things: “Will you weep for my son Baldr, that he may be return from Hela’s realm?” Each person, plant, rock and animal agreed, save for one. -Gylfaginning

Before we study the runic writing, let us look at the pattern that organizes all of this information. It’s big and bold, yet hides in plain sight within the details. To discover it, one must do away with words and look at the big picture, the spider’s web that unifies and connects each part to the whole. Frigga’s name is not written anywhere on the object. So where is she shown?

One day, Odin and Frigg were sitting in Hlithskalf and looked out upon all the worlds. -Grimnismal

Four Arms: Upon the mirror’s back you’ll find a diamond engraved in the center, with four arms extending from its corners to the edge of the circle. This is Frigga’s Eye, the symbol used in dedication to the sky goddesses. These arms emanate in the four directions from her pupil, lovingly embracing every being within the circle of creation. Two arms wouldn’t be quite enough to represent the All-Mother’s love for all living things.

Twelve Powers: Together the four and eight lines mark out twelve months that span the seasons on the Earth, changing and yet ever returning to begin anew. In the night sky, they are the nigh-eternal constellations that process along the ecliptic, serving as mnemonic markers for celestial tides. By these cycles are animals born in the most auspicious times, farmers informed of when to plant or harvest, while astrology ascribes even subtler influences upon people.

Lacking any surviving goddess symbols, Frigga’s Eye was inspired by the motif of Brighid’s Cross, the Spanish God’s Eye and cross-cultural Sun Wheel. Frey has the boar, Odin the Valknot, and Thor a hammer that often stands for all the gods. Now we have a holy symbol for clerics of the Sky Goddesses too!

Frigga’s Court – Line 1

Twelve maidens toil in hope of peace, the Queen of Heaven they serve together. Bound in fealty to no man, they work her will across the worlds.

The nearly forgotten names of Asgard’s goddesses are on the outer line of the disk. Simply reciting the names of the twelve makes a fine meditative and devotional mantra.

Even those well versed in Norse legends rarely know their names. The Eddas were written by men who wanted to preserve the heroic tales of the gods, not goddesses. Thus even the most erudite are only familiar with the wives and lovers of male gods, or occasionally their enemies. So let’s first look at that better known list of goddesses:

In the Prose Edda, Gylfi asks “Who are the Asynjur?” (goddesses, the female Aesir). Shockingly, none of the above goddesses are named, save Queen Frigga and Freya. We get a brief description of twelve other goddesses, as well as a mention of Sol and Bil. Sunna is honored with the smooth golden side (more on that below), and the twelve are on the inscribed side. They are called “Maidens” because they belong to no man, thus Frigga’s court of twelve goddesses acts independently of Odin’s court (which is also twelve sky gods, assisted by their wives).

Freya stands apart as a foreign queen held hostage, her deal is with Odin, so she is not truly part of the Asa clan or under Frigga’s rule. She’d probably want a mirror all of her own anyway. The identity of Bil is a topic of speculation.

Holding the mirror with the arrow arm pointing down, Fulla is the first goddess name at the top when read clockwise. Below are their names, Icelandic pronunciation, translation, basic function, sign and month. I should point out that hardly anyone uses the original pronunciation, and the Ladies themselves don’t particularly care.

Fulla

Sjöfn

Snotra

Lofn

Gefjon

Gná

“Foot-lah”

“Syo-ven”

“Snotra”

“Loven”

“Geff-yon”

“Gh-now”

Abundance

Affection

Wise

Permission

Giving

Towering

Management

Friendship

Hospitality

Forbidden loves

Work wealth

Communication

Capricorn

Aquarius

Pisces

Aries

Taurus

Gemini

January

February

March

April

May

June

Hlín

Sága

Eir

Syn

Vör

Vár

“H-Leen”

“Sow-gah”

“Eh-eer”

“Sin”

“Verr”

“Vower”

Lean-to

Story

Healing

Denial

Aware

Oaths

Protection

Storytelling

Healing

Guard

Seership

Contracts

Cancer

Leo

Virgo

Libra

Scorpio

Sagittarius

July

August

September

October

November

December

Goddess Astrology

At some point I decided to associate each goddess with a Western astrology sign, though it might be more accurate to say I was pushed into it by the Ladies. My girlfriend read aloud the personality description of each zodiac sign, in a random order, and I answered which Lady this most sounded like. This was to make up the new monthly order for my devotions. Surprisingly, my calendar didn’t change much. Most of them were already in the correct month, or moved one over.

Then I got the message from them that I should tell people their Asgardian Goddess sign. At this point I had a pretty decent connection to the Ladies, so I said:

“But… but… Vikings didn’t have anything like Western astrology. This doesn’t make any historical sense.”

We are sky goddesses, and there are twelve of us. It makes perfect sense.

“But why? I mean, I can associate each of you to a month without telling people why. If I say it’s astrology based, they’d just think I’m a quack who doesn’t know her lore.”

People need new ways to connect to us. The old ways have been lost, and would not be meaningful to modern people even if they were known.

“Okay… can’t we… make something new that sounds ancient then?”

No. Your people are familiar with astrology. They enjoy reading personal prophecies for their astrological sign, whether they believe in it or not. We want you to tell everyone their Goddess Sign. This will neatly assign one of us to watch over each of them.

“But… but… I don’t… I mean…”

Did we fucking stutter? Do it.

As it turns out, people do like knowing their Goddess sign, and are curious to hear the tale of the goddess who watches over them. Whenever I’m invited as guest lecturer to an Anthropology of the Supernatural class, a few students are eager to know about their goddess — even asking about those for friends and family. No one cares that it isn’t remotely historical. Everyone loves hearing about what makes them special, and who looks out for them in the sky. Thus the second row of the mirror gives a three letter runic acronym for the month and sign of each goddess.

“What if I’m born at the end of the month? Do I get that month’s goddess, or the one for the next month’s astrology sign?”
“You get both!” I always tell them with a grin.

In the beginning, my devotional periods were by moon cycles, with Fulla ruling the first full moon of the year. I’ve more or less given up on doing suppers by the moons — it worked well when I was alone, but it became a hassle in planning events with a group. Most of the new gnosis I get from goddesses is now from trance work I do outside the spirit suppers anyway, and the events are to give others a chance to commune with them.

Devotional Calendar— Line 2

Twelve months in a years, twelve ladies to remember, granting time to commune with each one.

On the second line are the first three letters of that goddess’ astrological sign and devotional month. For Fulla, you’ll see the runic acronyms CAP and JAN. This gives devotees a month to invite that Lady into their life, meditate, make offerings, get to know her and focus on her lessons. On the first of January, or every day if you wish, you might pray as such (changing the name and description on subsequent months):

“Lady [Fulla, manager of abundance,]Your virtues I invite, your presence I embrace.Goddess reveal your grace, wherever I may go.For this month I pray you, be my guide and mentor.

Permission I grant you, to see from my senses,Teach your loves and lessons, steer my path to your waysLet us meet over meals, to share my heart and mind.Gladly I give you now, warm welcome in my life.

Hail [Fulla!]”

Devotional Dead-Ends

You may have tried making offerings to a deity before now, perhaps making an altar space on a shelf, and waited for something to happen. Maybe you lit a candle, burned incenses, drummed to get in trance or recited poetry. Chances are, not much happened and it felt like a waste of time. Bummer.

Or maybe you’re a little sensitive to energies, and felt something happen to the piece of cake on the altar, as if its essence was being siphoned off somewhere else. Offering accepted, great! Now where’s my divine revelation? Dammit, if they’re gonna eat my cake, they could at least stay and talk to me for a minute (I may or may not be speaking from personal experience here…).

Debugging Your Devotions

All right, so let’s look at it from the divine point of view, so we can guess at why this didn’t work. Pretend you’re a goddess. The doorbell rings, you answer, it’s a postal worker with a package for you!Most excellent. You sign for it and look it over. It’s from Suzy Jones in Midgard. Huh, never heard of her. New fan I suppose. Let’s see what her offering is. Inside you find a mini-bottle of Baileys, a candle, a stick of incense, and some poetry in your honor. How thrilled are you?

Suppose you’re a popular deity who gets a dozen of these a day. Your excitement level is probably quite low. If they’ve composed some truly awesome new poetry about you, you’ll probably take the time to read it. If it’s a quote from the holy books, eh, whatever. At least they did their research. Your staff can write them a thank you note and send along standard blessing #37. It’ll take a bit more than that to impress you. Those whose names you can’t remember ever seeing are probably wankers, and not truly worth your time. Should they start sending you a prayer each day for a few weeks though, or make offerings every Friday for a month, then there’s the potential for a relationship. It shows that they’re seriously interested in you.

Tip #1 — Make regular offerings to the same spirit: It shows you’re serious. To some degree, it doesn’t matter which one you start with, they do seem to talk to each other. Proving yourself worthy to one means that all their friends will be more likely to answer or take interest in you (after a few months of offering morning and evening prayers to Sigyn, Gerda showed up in my garden — the first uninvited deity visit of my life).

Let’s suppose instead that you’re an unpopular goddess, and this is the first offering you’ve received this year (because you’re little more than a footnote in your pantheon’s sacred lore). Well, then, you’re probably pretty hyped that someone remembers you and cares enough to talk to you! You take a sip of the Baileys. Sweet! But I won’t drink it all now, let’s make this pleasure last. You carefully put the rest back in the box, and rush over to your… um… computer. Opening up GodFaceBook, you search for Suzy Jones.

Is she GFB friends with any other gods you know? Nope. This is both good and bad. It’s good in the sense that she’s available to choose you as her primary goddess, but it’s bad because no one can vouch for her worthiness as a devotee. Then you search fan pages. She’s got a few hits on the Aesir page, meaning she’s participated in group rites. A good start. You also find she’s left a few prayers in the comments of Freya’s fan page. All right, so she’s prayed a few times, probably gave up when the Vanadis didn’t personally shake her hand and give her a cookie.

Tip #2 — Less popular spirits are easier to please: With fewer people competing for their attention, they’re more likely to show interest.

Your divine influence in Midgard is pretty low these days, having no shrines and few followers to speak of. On the one hand you’d like to snatch this one up. On the other, you don’t really have the juice to spare on miracles. You go to Suzy’s spirit profile, and click follow. This way you’ll keep track of what she’s doing, and can make small changes she might notice are from you. Those won’t cost you much. Tweaking reality to create meaningful coincidences is much easier than making a visible apparition.

Tip #3 — Pay attention during the week following your offering: Notice any unusual events, recurring themes, or changes in your behavior and preferences. These may be messages from the deity or signs of their presence. It helps if you give them permission to do so, as in the prayer above, or at least invite them to give you clear signs.

Suzy’s been sending you love letters every day for a week now, so you decide to pay her a visit. She can’t see me, but no matter, I’ll get to see what she’s like. Hmm, small altar. Nice flower. Bit messy, and that I could forgive, but Suzy… pastel curtains? I’ll have to teach her my colors. Suzy finds herself suddenly despising the color of her curtains, and wanting a different color. I have a real hankering for some gravlax, maybe I can get her to find some? Suzy gets a craving for a fish she doesn’t recognize. She makes some frozen fish-sticks, but that doesn’t really satisfy her at all. It’s the wrong flavor, and she starts thinking smoked salmon is what she wants. Or no, sushi. Raw fish would totally hit that spot. But it’s inconvenient, and expensive. She spends the next three weeks dreaming about it until she eventually gets some, and it’s sooooo good, she gets shivers of food-gasm. Come on Suzy, figure it out. I’m right here. (Note: This is based on my experience on Hlin’s month, it’s how I learned she loves raw fish, as cravings ended with her month).

Tip #4 — Invite them, and offer hospitality at a specific time and place: If you designate a chair as the god chair, then you’ll know where to look and feel for their presence. Treat them as people, and they will respond to you as people, rather than as fuzzy blobby archetypal energies. Find ways to spend time with them, just like any new friend.

Spirit suppers deserve their own article, but the core of them is simple.

– Invitation: Make a small offering to the desired deity, such as a drink, food or incense. Ask them if they’d like to join you for a meal at a specified date and time. If you don’t get a feeling either way, use a divination tool to get an answer. You could alternately suggest meeting over tea and cookies, drinks, or simply a chat over coffee.

Just this week, I had pizza with Gna at a restaurant. The server asked about the slice of pizza and fries on the plate across from me when I requested a doggy bag. “It’s for someone who can’t be physically present,” I said. “I’m not taking it.” She probably understood it as being for a departed loved one.

– Ward: Pray to whomever you feel appropriate, so that your home will be protected from undesirable spirits and only your chosen guest may enter. I call on Gerda, goddess of walled gardens, but Thor will do as well. You can find hammer wardings all over the internet.

– Hospitality: Make supper, open the door, offer them a seat, and serve them exactly as if you had a human guest. Tell them about yourself, your day, your hopes and fears, just like you would any guest. Pay attention to impressions you get. Pretend you can see them and imagine they’re answering you. Carry on a conversation with your imaginary friend. It’s as simple as that. Some of the things you “imagine” them saying may surprise you (if they say exactly what you desired OR what you feared, that’s more likely to be from your mind than theirs…) When it’s done, thank them for coming, open the door, and thank the one who protected your home as you close it.

Heavenly Harmony— Lines 3,4,5

Twelve women hold hands, their healing circle intoning word, with constellations at their feet. Celestial choir, each singing her part, in the syncopated music of the spheres.

“Five heroes stood as equals to defeat the Evil One.” When have you seen that in ancient stories? Never. The “Five Man Band” is a modern story trope, because classical heroes either fought alone or with a sidekick. Try to think of any mythical heroes who fought among a team of equals. I’ll wait.

Heroes don’t need any help. They get magical gifts for doing noble deeds, occasionally listen to advice, but that’s it. Ever wonder why poetic prowess was considered as worthy of honor as skill in battle among Vikings? That’s because entertaining alone, without needing the help of a sung melody, musical instrument, never mind a troupe of musicians at your back, was far more heroic. More manly.

Only the weak needed to work together, it was thought, to coordinate their efforts and cooperate to achieve goals. In other words, women. Norse and Celtic heroes were likely scoffing at the “womanly” tactics of the Roman legions… all the way to their graves. This is my personal gnosis from Saga.

The harmony of roles played out by Frigga’s Handmaidens is shown by the three inner circles. This section is a practical tool for bards to use in creating music. Give the mirror a quarter turn counter-clockwise, so that Lofn is on top. While Fulla starts the calendar year in January, managing abundance to enhance prosperity, the astrological year starts with Lofn in Aries (at the Spring Equinox). Like her trickster counterpart among the gods, the rule-breaking lady gets things moving. Here is the translation of the big runes on the third line (in runes, Kenaz, Gyfu, Dagaz, etc.):

C G D A E B F# C# G# D# A# F

Trained musicians will recognize this as the Circle of Fifths, a core tool of music theory for figuring out chord progressions in a song. Those composing music for choirs, piano, violin or guitar — indeed anything that has multiple voices, instruments, strings or a keyboard — absolutely require this pattern for their work. It’s not just a symbol for harmony, it is a method for creating harmony.

Playing mandolin, I might start a song with the G chord. I could continue with a C, D or A chord and be sure that those will sound good together. That’s what the Circle of Fifths is for. If I started on E, then I’d know A, B and F# would flow well afterward. Those are the major chords though. The fourth line shows minor chords below each major chord (Am is noted with the Ansuz rune, for instance):

C

Am

G

Em

D

Bm

A

F#m

E

C#m

B

G#m

F#

D#m

C#

F#m

G#

F

D#

Cm

A#

Gm

F

Dm

Still starting with a G chord, I can add Am, Em and Bm to my list of chords I know will sound nice as a followup.

Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall— Using the Shiny Side

The shiny golden side of the mirror honors Sunna, the sun goddess (aka Sol in Icelandic), and she is specifically named in my morning prayers. For its simplest usage, you may polish that side as a meditation and prayer for clarity and enlightenment. Beyond that, we go into magical, mystical and shamanic uses of the mirror which are beyond the scope of this article. Simply put, you’ll have to try it out and learn for yourself. I will briefly point out the major uses of magic mirrors, and examples across ancient cultures.

Blessing: Reflect light with the mirror onto that which you want blessed.

Scrying: Gaze into the mirror like a crystal ball, and let images come to you. Or pray to a particular spirit, and use it as a window for a “video-conference.”

Mythical Mirrors

The Yata no Kagami mirror is the sacred tool of the Japanese sun goddess Amaterasu, a symbol of truth, wisdom and honesty. The sword, jewel and mirror were the three relics necessary to ascend to the throne of Japan. It was one of the symbols of Venus, and represented a passage into the spirit world rather than vanity. Celtic women were buried with mirrors, and it’s claimed this was as a means of passage to the afterlife. Mirrors were sacred to the cow goddess Hathor in Ancient Egypt, with a solar disk as her headdress. The word for “life” and “mirror” were the same, ankh. Mirrors were often shaped as ankhs, round head over outstretched arms as if to embrace, with the handle representing Hathor.

See also: From Girl to Goddess: The Heroine’s Journey through Myth and Legend, By Valerie Estelle Frankel

Toli, The Shaman’s Mirror

The Siberian shaman’s mirror, the toli, is said to be the second most important tool of the shaman after the drum (see Riding Windhorses by Sarangerel). While it’s my main inspiration source, I didn’t want to appropriate it outright, so I created the Northern Tradition design described above. I’m also not a fan of using magical tools bearing symbols I don’t understand. That can have unintended and undesirable consequences.

Older shaman’s mirror are most highly valued in Siberia, some being over a thousand years old, and were made of brass, bronze, iron, jade or silver. Silver ones were smaller and mostly used in healing. Glass mirrors are also used, but metal ones are vastly preferred.

Mirrors that have been used by ancient shamans are greatly prized, for they are empowered by their own master spirit. The downside is that each spirit has their personality, and will only allow itself to be used for what it wants. Some like to do healing and blessings, some are for warrior shamans who need protection and a weapon against darkness. One can journey into the mirror in spirit to ask what it does and wants.

-Symbols: The back of these mirrors are decorated with “Chinese symbols of good fortune, zodiac animals, trigrams, or the domain of Rahu, the star god, a deity in charge of the planets and time.”

-Shaman’s Armor: Shamans hang these mirror over their ritual outfits, as many of them as they have, usually with streamers of blue silk. Most important is the one over the chest to protect the heart, deflecting and reflecting attacks. They may be loaned to children and sick people as protection, but are particularly necessary when one is about to face dangerous spirits. Whether doing the exorcism of a place or healing work, the shaman is at risk of attack or possession from disease spirits as they do battle. Those mirrors are their first line of defense.

-Divination: The mirror does not need to be shiny to be used for scrying. Hazy ones actually make it easier to see patterns, symbols and visions when seeking answers. A shaman might beat their drum while gazing into it, or have an assistant do so, and ask the mirror to reveal what they seek.

-Disease Diagnosis: By gazing at a patient’s reflection in the mirror, the shaman can see intrusions and hostile spirits that hover around or inside the client’s body. They might find a spell linking to a sorcerer’s curse, or track down where the illness started in the body. Likewise, they can examine anything else to find curses or other problems.

-Healing: After charging the mirror with healing energies through various rites and prayers, the mirror is put in a bowl of water to infuse it. The water is then drunk by the patient (See Sarangerel).

-Portal: In the Himalayas,a large mirror is set in place on the altar as a portal from which beneficial spirits may enter to provide protection and offer healing (Himalayas). Alternately, the practitioner can use the portal to journey to the spirit world, after attuning it to the world they seek. It can be set upright in a bowl filled with sand.

-Spirit Houses: A large 7 inch mirror (melong) is hung from the healer’s neck with a silk scarf. Three slightly smaller ones are set upright in bowls piled high with mounds of sand or flour, to symbolize the healing mountains from which shamans receive their powers. Behind the smaller mirrors are images of healing deities. These spirits use the mirrors are temporary spirit houses and foci from which their powers could become manifest (See A Spirit Walker’s Guide to Shamanic Tools by Evelyn C. Rysdyk). Note that in Northern Traditions, Lyfjaberg is the Mountain of Healing, where Mengloth does her work with nine maidens (including the best known healer goddess Eir).

—

So there you have it. Something to reflect on, eh?

All comments greatly appreciated. If you’d like me to craft one, let me know, but realize I need a full day of work to make it. At half my normal hourly work rate, that comes to 240$, not counting the cost of materials, specialized tools, nor the time for research, design and failed attempts. That’s the price I quoted for the second mirror. If you want to make one yourself, I’ll tell you exactly how. Then it’ll just cost you a few hundreds in tools and materials.

I’ve also completed the design on a commission for a sea mirror for the Nine Mermaids, Aegir, Ran and Njord. That one will be pewter. Then there’ll be a copper one for Mengloth and her Healing Goddesses.

An amazing spiritual discovery at the L’Anse aux Meadows Viking settlement, the “Goddess Mirror” was remarkably well preserved. Made of rune-inscribed brass, it shows the name of twelve Asgardian goddesses who form the court of Queen Frigga in Norse mythology — as listed by Snorri Sturluson in the Prose Edda. Archaeologists have questioned the absence of Frigga’s name on its surface, but have come to the conclusion that the central design of a diamond with four equal arms in a circle is actually the long sought-after symbol for the All-Mother. Dubbed “Frigga’s Eye,” it is believed to stand for her all-seeing gaze that “knows all fate but speaks it not”, as well as representing a double set of arms to embrace all her children. The other side is smooth and seems to have been polished to act as a mirror.

Even more astonishing is that the artifact doubles as a religious calendar, assigning each divinity rulership of a month. This informs us that the worship of goddesses had far more importance in ancient times than was reported by Snorri with his meager two pages as the sum of their lore.

Anthropologists argue for the similarity of this item with so-called “shaman’s mirrors” found in Siberia, and may be the result of cultural exchanges between the Tungus people and Rus-Vikings. If that is so, then this mirror would likely have been used by priestesses to perform blessings as well as to repel evil spirits, using its smooth side to reflect “Sunna’s light” onto devotees.

Appealing as it is, the above story is unfortunately untrue. There are no ancient sky goddess symbols that survived to our time. Two pages of the Prose Edda by Snorri are all we have on the twelve goddesses of Asgard, whom he says are no less powerful than the Aesir gods. Often called “Frigga’s Handmaidens,” they have about a sentence or two as the sum of their lore. The guys who wrote down those ancient stories just weren’t that interested in women’s stories, unless they prominently featured men or male gods. The ones we have stories about are all married: Freya, Skadhi, Gerda, Frigga, Idunna, Sif, Nanna, Sigyn, and Sunna. Oh, and we also know some about the ones Odin seduced or raped, like Rind and Gunnlod, but they’re not usually considered goddesses.

The unmarried ones of Frigga’s court get nada, save Gefjon who performed a great service for Odin. This leaves modern Heathen women like myself in a bit of a quandary. Either we content ourselves with historical crumbs, or board the “U.S.S. make shit up.”

If we’re honest about it, there’s quite a bit of the latter already in modern Heathenry. We don’t have any surviving examples of full religious rituals, just some fragmentary teasers and hints. We makes things up and do the best we can with what we’ve got. So that’s what I did.

I’d thought to make this fake news the opener for my article, because “the more ancient, the more true” is a rule in religion. If you can’t find something ancient, make it up and claim it’s thousands of years old. Trust me, it’s traditional. Examples are abundant, but it’s considered bad manners to point them out.

History of the Asynjur Mirror

I started this project with the search for a religious symbol of my faith. Hearkening back with humor to my days of Dungeons and Dragons, I thought: “Clerics need a holy symbol to cast their spells. What can I use for that?”

Thor’s hammer pendants are common in Heathenry, and were worn during the Christian transition period to signify their faith. Amusingly, a mold was found of hammers and crosses that a jeweler used to sell to both sides. But I don’t really honor the gods much, I’m more about goddesses, so it seemed weird to wield that when praying to Frigga’s court. Lacking historical symbols, I decided to make my own.

But what would be a good goddess symbol? The keyring is a prominent tool that represents women’s control of the household, but it only applies to married women. The Handmaidens are those without husbands, so that wouldn’t work except for Frigga. No good. The distaff and drop spindle are also the quintessential women’s tool, but heavily associated with Frigga and the Norns. While I have a few of them, it didn’t seem like the right thing either. That’s when the idea came that a mirror would be the perfect goddess symbol. I launched into research and started drafting designs. This came after considerable time in devotion to them though, so I should catch you up on how that happened.

The Creation Process : Starting with Hospitality

Years ago, I decided this: what I most wanted was to revive or recreate the forgotten cult of Frigga’s Handmaidens, as spiritual role models for modern women. I didn’t have much to go on, but found inspiration at a conference given by Brendan Myers. He described the historical importance and meaning of hospitality, as well as the specific rules described in The Instructions of King Cormac:

“O Cormac, grandson of Conn”, said Carbery, “what are the dues of a chief and of an ale-house?”Lights to lamps; Exerting oneself for the company;A proper settlement of seats; Liberality of dispensers;A nimble hand at distributing; Attentive service;Music in moderation; Short story-telling;A joyous countenance; Welcome to guests;Silence during recitals; Harmonious choruses.”

This struck a chord. Hospitality is one of the major virtues recognized in ADF a Druid Fellowship (of which I was a member for over a decade) and also part of Heathenry’s Nine Noble Virtues. It occurred to me that women-centered rites would likely have focused around the household’s hospitality, rather than the larger Mead Hall where men toasted and boasted. Men went to war and earned much glory, but women ruled the home.

Dumb Suppers

Among rites of hospitality, I found the dumb supper. Eaten in silence, a seat and serving was reserved for an invisible guest. In the middle ages, this was done by young women to discover the identity of their future husband. But in the early twentieth century, we find it was performed to welcome home dead loved ones on All Hallow’s Eve. Ancient Romans had feasts with straw effigies of the Olympians seated at their table. Having supper with spirits was a thing.

Spirit Suppers

Well, I told myself, if they can do that, why can’t I offer hospitality to these goddesses with a seat at my table? I’d had some experience with making deity offerings at my home altar, but it never quite worked out for me. To be crass, it seemed like the food I gave was divine take-out (take-away for you Brits). The offering was accepted but the spirit didn’t stay to chat. I really wanted them to stay and chat, so I could get to know them, so why not do it in the kitchen? Hospitality customs vary, but there are some very specific rules. If you accept, you come. If you come, you stay for the meal.

So in 2010 I started cooking supper for myself and the goddess I invited. My girlfriend and others eventually joined us, and this group became Lokabrenna Kindred.

The Calendar

With twelve goddesses to attend to, I had to figure out a plan. Would I spend a few months with each one? A year? No, that would take too long to get to them all. I settled on hosting once a month, and the goddess calendar was born. At first it was a lunar-solar calendar, with the blue moon dedicated to Frigga. I assigned goddesses to a month by what made sense to me in terms of seasonal mood and themes. That worked pretty well, and I enjoyed the mindfulness needed in keeping track of the moons. The first full moon was to Fulla, and I spent the time from new moon to dark moon communing with her as best I could — picking songs at random in the car for that month’s goddess, for instance, was surprisingly helpful in getting a feel for what she liked.

To make things simpler for my group’s ritual calendar, I later changed it to ignore moons and just have it by month, with a correlated astrological sign. Fulla in January as Capricorn, for instance.

So that’s how it came to be. For a more detailed look at the mirror and how it’s used, check out the next article, Sky Goddess Mirror — Holy Symbol of the Asynjur of Asgard.

Author’s Note: This holiday tale is a supporting character’s back-story for Fulla’s Temple. I’m currently writing chapter 7 and should resume posting soon!

—

Every morning, my mother poisoned me. That was just her way of showing love, I guess.

“Eat up, son,” she said without inflection, “before the gruel gets cold.”

Mother seems particularly cheerful today, I thought as I sat. Her features were relaxed as if in boredom, but she stood bent over the table across from me, leaning on forearms. Had her dark hair been loose like mine, instead of tied in a bun, it would have almost dipped into my bowl. She was close enough for me to smell the gin on her breath, and I saw pupils so dilated as to almost obliterate the gold of her iris. Never seem too interested when you’ve slipped them a dose, she always taught. Never let them see your eyes. Eyes cannot lie.

Seeing her so eager as to break not one but two of her rules, I patted my belt to make sure all the antidote vials were there. They were.

I sniffed the aroma wafting from the clay bowl. Pungent, sour, bitter, salty. With so many spices, it was hard to make out what was really in there, though the fragrance of rosemary was dominant. Oatmeal made a perfect neutral base on which to practice her craft.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Our glass water-clock counted the seconds, hanging over me from the ceiling of our cave, while I tried to reckon today’s recipe. Her pale fingers tapped along the beat of the drip, pretty claws painted purple for the occasion. Today was a big day after all, and she wore her green leathers well for a woman of over three hundred.

“Sapling, you try my patience,” she said at last. “Eat your breakfast, boy.”

“Must we do this today, Mother?” I whined.

“Holidays are no excuse to skip your training,” she replied.

I sighed, filling my spoon with a small amount, and touched my tongue to her preparation. It tingled, ruling out two thirds of the possibilities. Unable to delay further, I dripped a dollop onto the middle of my tongue. First rule, a taster never swallows.

Its flavour was exquisite, as always. The note of mustard really highlighted the umami of the mushroom juice. Mother was an exceptional cook, an unusual hobby for a woman. I found myself salivating, struggling not to swallow this delicious morsel. Focus! What else am I feeling? Ah yes! Saliva drying up, it’s an astringent. Urggghhhh.

I fell off the stool as my throat closed up, denying me breath. She came to kneel beside me as I spat out the gruel, keenly observing my reactions to her latest poison.

Third bottle from the left, no, fourth.

I fumbled with my belt, identifying the sigil on its cap by feel alone. While our breakfast area was brightened by oil lamps, color coding would fail in darkness – and that was assuming the venom didn’t first strike you blind.

And now my fingers are going numb, clever.

I was pretty sure I had the fourth bottle, but brought it before my eyes to be sure. A spiral of lilac down its length, outlined in black. I popped the cork and spilled its content into the parched cavity of my mouth. Nothing happened.

Excrement! Should I have used the pink one?

I reviewed the aroma profile for a match, made more difficult by my graying out from lack of air. Finally, my throat opened up and I gasped, still holding the antidote in my mouth.

“That was pretty clever, mother. Asphyxiation and numbness made it more challenging. I’m grateful you didn’t have me sweating profusely or throwing up.”

“Nonsense, child,” she said as she helped me up, brushing my long hair back in place with a hand. “Your first date is about to arrive, and I want you to look good for her. Women put a lot of importance on a man’s beauty after all.”

I brushed off my green tunic and resumed my meal. Between the exciting brush with death and Mother’s delicious cooking, it was a delight.

She rechecked her arm-sleeve daggers, tightened her dark hair bun, and went to wait quietly beside the door’s hinges. A few minutes later, there was a knock.

Oh no, not so soon!

I cringed, feeling self-conscious. Not only hadn’t I finished eating, but my hair and face paint were probably messed up. Well, it would have to do. I cleared my throat and called out.

“You may enter, it’s unlocked.”

The door slowly creaked open. It was designed to creak that way. Mother was still as a statue on the other side.

“Hvellur dear,” she called out coyly, “won’t you come greet me for Blood-Heart’s Day?”

I couldn’t help but bare teeth in joy.

“My heart is here for you to claim if, you can,” I replied, according to that day’s customs.

I longed to see her face once again, but it was her left arm’s buckler that first appeared in the doorjamb. I nodded in approval. Never stick out your neck.

Then she kicked the door, smashing it into mother’s face, and I laughed. She rolled away while blood spurted from her nose, spurring further laughter from myself and my deadly looking lover.

Ah, you really have to take pleasure in the little things of life, or you won’t have any fun at all, I reflected, safely taking my bowl to go stand in the furthest corner.

And what a deadly sight she was as she leapt inside! Blond braids snaking around the top of her head to form a helmet, padded brown deerskin jacket, black leather trousers and short soft boots. She quickly surveyed her arena, and then crouched behind the table. I was proud of her for not letting eyes linger on me. Acting like a lovesick lad would only get her killed, there would be time for simpering sweetness later – if she survived.

Mother stood up, and barked a derisive laugh.

“Ha! You think you’re clever, sapling, using blunt force like that, but you made me bleed.”

Immediately my lover stood, raising her buckler in defence as she understood her mistake. Mother wiped the blood from her lips, and with two fingers made a cutting motion at Nadra.

“Scathak!” she cried as the drips flew into the curve of a blade, slashing down upon my intended. I held my breath, forgetting to swallow and hoping she could dodge my mother’s blood magic.

“Mithgarth!” my lover intoned, and I realized her buckler hand was wrapped around a small pouch. She wasted no power on making a shield, it was instead a sheath of redness that appeared, swallowing up the attack. With her right hand, she cupped the bottom of it, thus capturing her attacker’s droplets.

“I claim first blood! I win!” she exclaimed triumphant, while mother blanched. But Nadra wasn’t done just yet, she gave her hand a sharp twist and lunge to the left. Helpless as a puppet, her opponent was hurled headlong into the wall’s bookshelves and collapsed into a heap.

“He is mine for the day,” she continued, “and you will grant your blessing or face my wrath.”

Mother groaned and rubbed her head, while I licked the last of my food. What an exciting fight! My arousal was such that I needed to rearrange my crotch, dropping my bowl on the table as I rushed over to my lusty conqueror.

Breath ragged, I gazed up into the fire of my soon-to-be lover’s eyes, when there was laughter from behind. Nadra’s victorious teeth-bearing faltered, and her leering gaze wandered away from my form.

“You think you’ve won,” Mother said between coughs, leaning precariously against the bookshelf, “but I poisoned my blood before the fight.”

Already my lover’s face was getting greenish. Her knees buckled. She tried to wipe her hand on the dirt floor, but it was too late. A glance over my shoulder revealed the matriarch in a similar state.

“Son,” she said as she slid to the floor, “as is our custom when both lay dying, you must choose. Who will you save from death today?”

The roots that ran along our ceiling wriggled slightly, with so many spirits thirsting for a feeding.

I blinked, took a deep breath and recited the ancient words: “I choose Nadra, for she is young and will be bold in defending our family tree. My mother’s blood shall feed its roots well as she joins the ancestors within.”

I lovingly cradled my fallen lover’s head in my lap as I popped the cork of the antidote and poured it into her mouth.

Nadra swallowed and whispered back: “I choose you, Hvellur, to be the branch upon which I shall grow ever stronger. Be my blood-heart.”

I cherished this minute of closeness, where for once she was weak while I was strong. Too soon, the antidote restored her and she stood up unassisted to await my reply.

“Yes, I will be your blood-heart,” I whispered back, looking up into her gorgeous blue eyes. We embraced, heart to heart, and I sighed at how safe I felt in her arms.

The spell of the moment was broken by Mother dropping my dirty bowl into the wash basin. With regret, I released my chosen and turned.

“So, you’d leave your old mother to die, eh?”

“Mother, if you were so foolish as to die of your own poison, you’d richly deserve your fate. I knew you’d be fine, but Nedra would not have a remedy for your exotic venoms. She’s not from a family of poisoners.”

She dried her hands on a rag, and gleefully bared teeth back at me.

“Well, this Nadra certainly put up a good fight. She’s strong, clever, resourceful. I’ll grant her my blessing. You kids have fun today and don’t stay out too late. I may be getting soft in my old age, but there are some real monsters out there.”

“The tenth is Vör: she is wise and of searching spirit, so that none can conceal anything from her; it is a saying, that a woman becomes ‘aware’ of that of which she is informed.” Her name is roughly pronounced “Ver” in Icelandic, ö sounds like the French “eu.” (1)

Vor’s Story

In the beginning, there were few giants after the flood that drowned Ymir’s kin. Vor a was daughter of Bolthorn, sister to Mimir and Bestla and aunt of Odin’s. Far from the refreshing ice of Niflheim, there was need of fresh water on the rocky shores of newly formed Jotunheim. It was Vor’s task as a girl to find it. Bolthorn made it a game, saying “I’ve hidden the water underground. Close your eyes and find it.” She put her small hands over her eyes and looked underneath the rocky surface to find the water, directing her father’s great footsteps as she rode on his shoulder. It was her brother Mimir’s talent to bring the water up through rock and soil, but it was hers to find where it lay hidden.

All over Jotunheim they made wells for the people as new generations spread and settled the land. She would stare her favorite well when there was no need of her water-witching, allowing it to reveal secrets as she practiced seership. Some would come to ask her for answers, and she told the unkempt to return when they had washed away the filth from their eyes.

Odin eventually made peace with his uncle Mimir, and asked help in finding fresh water for the dry lands of sunny Asgard.

“I can bring it up, nephew, but it is my sister Vor who can find them. She will not soon forgive you Ymir’s death, nor offer help.” Together they came up with a plan. One of Mimir’s talents was to know how people would die, and he shared some knowledge of his own death with Odin. They sent word to Vor that she must find water sources in Asgard, lest her brother lose his head. She looked into the waters and saw that indeed, Mimir would be beheaded unless the future was changed, so she grudgingly agreed to seek groundwater in Asgard. She served her purpose, residing in her cave at other times, peering into its dark waters to learn all she could. Yet she dared not verify if her actions had changed the future and saved her brother. The deed was done, and she could do no more. Some things are better left unanswered, and she wisely chose to live in hope rather than certainty.

When Mimir was beheaded in Vanaheim, she sighed and started packing her few possessions to finally return to Jotunheim — no longer did she have any reason to stay. It was Frigga who came to her isolated hut, begging her to stay and be one of her ladies.

“Elder,” spoke Frigga, “I am but a youngling queen here, much in need of one wiser than I to counsel me. I pray that you consider staying as part of my court, no longer at Odin’s bidding but under my protection, free to do as you wish, yet able to influence our affairs as a Goddess of Asgard, as one of the Asynjur. Will you think on my proposal?” With the weariness of age, Vor sighed, put down her bags and returned to her well for what she thought was the last time. We do not know what she saw, only that when she returned to the hut she was pale and shaken.

“I will stay as one of your ladies, Frigga queen of Asgard, for I dare not tempt the future we would face if should leave you without my counsel. You have… my allegiance.”

Then she sat for a long time in silence, still holding Frigga’s hand. Many believe she cried for the first time in ages, something she had not done even at her brother’s death. Others say this is foolishness, that she would not show weakness this way in front of her new liege. One thing however is plain to see: no one she knew in her youth was still alive in Jotunheim, and she would not be warmly welcomed after serving the Aesir for so long. When asked on the matter, Frigga simply smiles sadly and says nothing.

Vor is sympathetic to immigrants who have had to venture far away from their homes, making the difficult choice of living in a new land where they are not welcome.

Meeting Vor

Vor typically appears as an impossibly ancient white-haired woman, yet still vigorous enough to give silly mortals a tongue lashing. In one rite she was heard speaking with an odd cadence and accent reminiscent of a cross between a Jewish grandmother (or perhaps Eastern European) and a First Nations elder. Her tone can be harsh, critical, and she has no issue berating you for your foolishness and failings — though what she complains about only makes sense if you really think about it:

“Ach! How can you see with all this light!? Far too bright to see, it’s making me sleepy.”

“You’re filthy, have you no shame? Wash yourself, for the sake of the gods! Smear your body with mud, fool, so you can come to me clean.”

“I’ve never heard such a stupid question. Find a better question.”

“Why are you so short? Stand up straight! Don’t be short when you’re supposed to be tall.”

“Your heart’s dirty. Here, take this stone and wash it in my cauldron.”

“Wake up! You’re all asleep and dreaming! Get rid of this light, close your eyes and wake up!”

Most of her advice has to do with cleansing through water, waking up and seeing clearly. When inviting her, it’s good to provide a cauldron of hot water, one of cold water, and a number of palm sized stones she can give people to warm, cool or clean in those vessels. A towel is good, as she’ll surely pour water over your hands to wash you. Drumming might help trance, but playing music for her is a waste, she won’t appreciate it.

As a rule of thumb, Saga fills the role of the kind grandmother that gives you hot milk and tells you an uplifting story (in her elderly aspect), while Vor is the grandmother that make you clean up your mess. Though generally gruff, she does care and can offer comfort when you’re having a hard time (while Saga’s younger aspect can be downright vicious as a con-artist).

Oddly, Vor favors written over oral communication. Writing down your requests to her is a good idea, even if it’s just in your mind. I suspect it’s because she trusts what is seen (such as writing) over what is heard, so you can also ask her questions in the form of mental images. Or maybe it’s a form of “talk is cheap, seeing is believing.” One method that worked surprisingly well was to visualize finding her Facebook page and messaging her through that chat system… let it not be said our gods can’t use Internet!

She is not so fond of Saga’s stories which distort and embellish the truth to press a point or inspire. Truth to her must be directly experienced rather than spoken of, and while Snotra likes books and learning from elders, she feels one’s five senses are the most direct path to knowledge — be it physically or by journeying in spirit. She also approves of the scientific method (making a hypothesis about something not yet observed, testing it, and using empirical data to refine the theory). See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scientific_method

Sometimes she comes so elderly, frail and crippled by arthritis that she can barely speak or hold a spoon to eat thin gruel. She mumbles so softly one must be quiet and strain to hear her answers.

Dwelling in Darkness

To find Vor’s wisdom you need silence and darkness. A blindfold and earplugs are useful props, though pressing palms strongly over the eyes may be the best pose to commune with her. If you cannot find a dark, damp cave, the second best place to reach her is in the bathroom while sitting on the toilet. This isn’t a joke. It’s over a pool of water designed to cleanse and relieve you of your crap. Ach, and you have so much crap to get rid of, children!

It’s better if you close the door and turn off the lights, but even in an office you can get a great pick-me-up by sitting on the toilet with palm-covered eyes, “turn off the world” and dwell in darkness for a minute. Breathe deeply and slowly, exhale with a noisy sigh. It works wonders when overwhelmed with people or work, as well as when seeking fresh ideas. Relieving yourself at the same time is not an issue, she doesn’t share modern notions of what’s clean and dirty. Letting go of filth is a good thing.

Vor’s Divination Chant:

Gracious goddess, Knowing One, help me now to see
How to read and how to tell, Truth from fantasy.

Thick or thin, smooth or snag, in the tapestry
Wool to hand, eye to lips, knowing set us free.

Invocation to Vor: (to have her speak through a seeress)

“Knowing one we call, From Frigga’s favor
Keeper of lore, Keeper of truth.

Goddess Vor we call, Greet from Asgard we,
Make us aware, what was to be.

Searching wise one come, Few can rival you
Questions your seeds, Answers to needs, .

None so well concealed That you will not find
Questions we speak, Answers you seek.

Wise bloodhound for facts, Well find You the words
To share, to catch, As swift as birds.

Runes:Pertho as her signifier for readings and rune of divination, Laguz for waters and Hagalaz for cleansing.

Affinity: November, Scorpio.

Food and drink: Water, cleansing teas, lemon and water, things you would drink while fasting. Soup, thin gruel, foods you could eat with a spoon even if you had no teeth left; soft, well cooked organic root vegetables (things that grow in darkness).

Attunement: Taking a hot shower in the dark, followed by splashing yourself with cold water; meditating in the dark with a bowl of hot water and one of ice cold water (try putting a hand or finger in each at the same time, like a battery with a hot and a cold pole); writing to her rather than speaking, this can also be done by visualizing your words being written, without mentally speaking them; going to a sauna or sweat lodge; for a quick mental recharge, go to the bathroom, turn off the lights, cover your eyes with your hands, say her name and just breathe while relieving yourself.

Service offerings: Performing divination for others without embellishing the results. Getting rid of things that clutter your life and toxic people; cutting out over-processed additive-filled foods from your diet. Various forms of fasting (just juice, or just mashed vegetables and gruel for instance); doing a silence fast — no speaking, texting, phone, tv, music or computers (for an hour, a day; start with short times, it’s harder than it looks); doing a “light fast” — staying in a completely dark place or wearing a blindfold for a time (remove glass and other breakables from your area first); wearing blindfold and earplugs while you meditate.

Offerings: That’s all right dear, grandma doesn’t need you to buy her gifts. She wants you to deal with your own damn shit first before you worry about other people. And close that door, you’re letting all the heat out. Hmph.Go through your closets for what you don’t really need, throw away the trash and give away the rest. Cleaning the home is more for Frigga, but reducing the clutter in your life is a good offering to Vor. There is a lot of emotional energy tied up in holding onto things, which is freed by letting them go (a rainbow appeared as this writer was considering whether to add the current paragraph).

Contra-indicated: Lying, to yourself or others; embellishing the truth to spare feelings; being dirty from lack of regular washing (as opposed to being sweaty and muddy from doing a purification rite, which is fine), talking too much and not listening enough.

We had a spirit supper to All-Mother Frigga during the blue moon of 2012, and I was her horse (medium if you will). I remember feeling, well, motherly. Not in a judgmental way. Rather in a “these children are struggling. How can I help them?” Even she wasn’t sure how best to do that.

Our human parents often fall far short of perfection. So if you need a little extra mothering… consider praying to Frigga. Sadly we have little of her stories surviving to give us comfort, but I would suggest this website to fill in the void. Perhaps you can make the reading of these letters part of the answer you get from the All-Mother.

“Welcome to Your Holiday Mom – an online space where supportive moms gather to post a holiday message to all LGBTQ children, teens and adults who are without family support and who would like a “stand-in” holiday family. We know that not every mom is ready to accept her own LGBTQ child exactly as-is (as hard as this is for us moms here to imagine), so we have written to extend our love beyond that of our own family.

Who are these moms? We are everyday friends and family from everyday homes. Many, but not all, have LGBTQ children of our own. Many, but not all, are straight. Each mom speaks to the holiday/s she observes, from Thanksgiving to New Years Day. In other words, even our writers here represent diversity.

The vast majority of us came together because they heard about the project, yet most have never met me or each other. The common bond we share is that we are so full of love and pride for our own children – LGBTQ and straight – we wanted to extend ourselves beyond our own families and do something more.